


oh to be brave

by commonlybad



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commonlybad/pseuds/commonlybad
Summary: Connor Whisk is extraordinary on the ice and anything but when it comes to his feelings.The Whiskey/Parse fic that no one asked for.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shitty rare pair fic that i'll be working on bc the people that matter most in the entire cp universe are connor whisk and kent parson and i think they'd be so good together bc they both have angsty teen cool guy energy.

Connor Whisk’s story isn’t one of excitement. It isn’t one of adventure or anything like that. He keeps his head down, doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t get in trouble. He’s just a kid who wants to play in the NHL. Even that doesn’t make him inherently exciting, what kid grows up around the game and doesn’t want to play pro?

  
Connor Whisk’s story isn’t one of bravery. He shouldn’t have to be brave, he just wants to feel alive. He does - on the ice. On the ice things make sense to him. He’s got what people call a high “Hockey IQ” he just reads the ice better than nearly everyone. Knows where to be a second before anyone else realizes. He knows his strengths and his weaknesses on the ice and how to capitalize on them. He knows the same for his teammates and his opponents, it’s what makes him a great linemate and someone to target during games.

  
Off ice he has a little more trouble. Connor always feels like there is a joke that everyone else is in on. Like he takes too long to think of a witty retort and by the time that he has one, the conversation has moved to the next topic. He’s personable enough in small groups but in large gatherings he hangs back in a way that he hopes is cool and collected but almost certainly comes off like he thinks he’s too good for everything and everyone.

  
He wishes he could be more like Bittle, even though Bittle thinks that Connor hates him. Sometimes the constant mother henning and the fact that Eric Bittle thinks that any problem can be handled by a fresh pie or a tart baked with love can be exhausting. That fact is Connor envies him. He envies how he found a family here at Samwell who are still close despite the fact that half the team he met when he came here are gone now. He envies Eric Bittle and his smiles that come easily and abundantly and the way that after a loss he can stand to look his teammates in the eyes and say with full faith that they will do better next time. He envies that Bittle is able to go to center ice and kiss his boyfriend after said boyfriend won the Stanley Fucking Cup. He envies that he is brave.

  
It’s a bit silly though - the fact that everyone congratulates them on their bravery. Coming out shouldn’t be required, shouldn’t be scary, shouldn’t be brave. It shouldn’t be an either or. When he came out to parents his father told him you are either a great hockey player or you are gay. Eric and Jack are showing that the two can coexist.

  
Unfortunately, Connor is not a trailblazer, he is not a role model, he doesn’t want fan mail from kids like him that always seem to end up at the haus for Bittle. He doesn’t want to be the first gay player to do x, y, or z. He doesn’t want his accomplishments on the ice, the only place he actually shines, to be overshadowed. He wouldn’t be able to stand a bad game where the media somehow blames a bad turnover on the fact that he’s gay the way they always manage to do whenever Bittle or Jack make any tiny mistake. He won’t let the only place he feels at home be taken from him.

He has made his choice. He chose hockey, as he always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a short intro to the general angst that i think is going through connor whisk's head in what will envitably be a multi chapter experience of Growth as he navigates trying to be and instead of either or.


	2. whiskey, foxtrot, tango

It feels like the juniors and seniors of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team don’t realize how absolutely crazy it is to have the constant presence of National Fucking Hockey League players. They’re people, sure, but it’s hard to grow up watching the game and not be a little starstruck when you walk into the haus and see guys you grew up watching play. Connor tries to not let it show past that time he asked Zimmerman to sign his jersey because he wants to make a good impression. One day he’s going to play with or against these guys.

That being said when he gets a text in the groupchat he shares with Tony and Ford that says, “f150 has been staring at mashkov for 10 minutes now. not sure she’s blinked. bring eye drops” He leaves his dorm a little quicker than he’d care to admit.

 _Whiskey to Zambroskis:_ Oh god, is she at least breathing this time? I thought she was going to have heart palpitations last time he visited.

 _Tango to Zambroskis:_ ~still alive but shes barely breathin~

 _Foxtrot to Zambroskis:_ I am also in this gc and can sEE THESE TEXTS

 _Tango to Zambroskis:_ oh you managed to tear ur eyes away from him?

 _Foxtrot to Zambroskis:_ He went to the bathroom.

 _Foxtrot to Zambroskis:_ And I wasn't STARING,,, we were having a staring contest -- that he didn’t know about.

 _Foxtrot to Zambroskis_ : ...Can you please bring eye drops though (-:

 _Whiskey to Zambroskis:_ Already in my hand.

It’s a lie but he does turn around and go to the Stop n Shop and pick some up for her. Sue him. He doesn’t get on too well with most of the team but for some reason he doesn’t feel overwhelmed when it’s just the 3 of them. He loves those dorks. He feels kind of shitty thinking that because he knows that the rest of the team means well but they are a little excitable and all Connor really wants to do is play hockey. Now that Zimmerman’s gone no one has the same drive as he does. They all want to win and to get a championship but after school they will pack up their skates and maybe break them out for some pond hockey or adult league. That just wouldn’t work for him, for his family, for the whole town who packs into the local bar to watch Samwell games.

Connor doesn’t know who he is if he can’t be on the ice, doesn’t know what he’ll do with this fucking communications degree. He doesn’t know if he’s good at anything else, never had the opportunity to try. The more he thinks about it the harder it becomes to breath. He takes a seat on the edge of the walking path and puts his head between his knees like his girlfriend always tells him to when he gets like this. Then he starts thinking about his girlfriend. God she’s so good to him he doesn’t deserve her. He’s using her. He’s an awful person. She just gives and gives and he is pretty sure she knows that he’s cheating on her.  
His vision becomes blurry, “Cmon Whisk pull it together,” he thinks. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. Everything is fucking fine. He counts his breaths. In and Out. In and Out. In and -

 _Tango to Zambroskis:_ the wild mashkov has migrated to the kitchen where he has been followed not at all discreetly by the apex predator ford. how WILL he get out of this

 _Tango to Zambroskis:_ he has yet to notice her circling. OH NO MASHKOV LOOK OUT SHE’S INCOMING. DANGER IMMINENT

 _Tango to Zambroskis:_ it’s really important to me that you read the previous texts in like a nat geo or australian narrator voice. and also that you get that beautiful ass over here.

_Tango has renamed the group: #ProtectTheTaterTot_

The sound of his phone reminds him where he is and grounds him. He only has a handful of people he’d consider close since he’s left highschool but Tony and Ford top the list no question. They’re Foxtrot, Tango, and Whiskey and they work despite having very little in common.

_Ford has renamed the group: #FuckTango_

_Tango to #FuckTango:_ im a little busy rn and also i dont want to mess up what we have but i can pencil you in for a fuck on tuesday if you really want

 _Ford to #FuckTango:_ I,,, I don’t even have anything to say that

_Whiskey has renamed the group: Worst gc Ever In History_

He cracks the smallest of smiles and hurries along to the store and eventually makes his way to the haus where he is greeted by an enthusiastic chorus of his name and the smell of God knows what baked goods.

Of course Bittle comes shooting out of the kitchen at the sound of someone entering wearing a quaint apron and a plate of cookies in his hands. Who even wears aprons anymore who isn’t a soccer mom or fifty years old.

His smile is full and bright but he seems hesitant, “Oh Whiskey! I am so glad you made it out. We haven't seen you at the haus in a while!”

It’s not a dig but it feels a little like one. He knows the team isn’t thrilled that he spends more time at the LAX house across the road than he does at his own teams but he sees his team everyday, they practice or workout everyday and when they aren’t they are on the road. He gets his fill of SMH shenanigans.

“Oh uh, Tango texted me that everyone is here and to stop by.” Connor responds a bit stilted.

Bittle doesn’t miss a beat, “Oh that’s great honey! I was going to give you a call anyways but first would you like a cookie? They are peanut butter chocolate chip.”

He hates to say it because he knows that Bittle will take it as a personal affront but he doesn’t feel like breaking out his epipen today, “I’m actually allergic to nuts sorry. Nothing crazy, I can be in the same room as them I just ah, can’t eat nuts.”

“What? Why have you never told me?” Bitty responds after he picks up his jaw off the floor.

Connor doesn’t want to say because they don’t talk much because that is completely his choice. If Bittle had his way they would have matching friendship bracelets by now if his goodie bag last season was anything to go by. Instead he says, “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth because my mom is a dietician so it just never mattered I guess.”

“Of course it matters!” the blonde exclaimed, “I will bake you something you’ll like one of these days, Whiskey just you wait!” And with that he sets off to the kitchen like a man on a mission.

With that, Whiskey heads to the living room where Ford and Tango are sitting on the couch and he tosses the container of eye drops to Ford which she misses terribly.

“You have many talents but hand-eye coordination is not one of them dude.” Whiskey says as he and Tango laugh. One of the things she is good at is putting hockey players in their place so she shoves him off the arm of the coach that he had perched himself on.

Still exhausted from what his mother refers to as “another episode,” he just stays on the floor and throws his legs in her lap and says, “So what’d I miss?”

“Not a lot but Jack and Tater ran to get Bitty more dark chocolate and oats because he promised to make those Falcs Nutritionist Approved Power Bars for the whole team for after their game tomorrow.” Tango filled him in.

Ford gets a huge grin on her face while she cuts in, “Oh speaking of! Tater invited us to the game tomorrow night against the Aces since it’s our bye week!”

“Oh I can’t I have-” He starts but Ford is having none of it.

“I am not taking no for an answer because I know for a fact you don't have any Friday classes.” She’s right and she knows it. Damn.

He loves watching hockey but he also has little interest in being surrounded by the entire SMH team while they get very drunk and scream at NHL players that they personally know. He also knows that once Ford gets something in her head there is not a thing in the world that will get you out of it. Maybe it will be good to hang out with them more though, off ice bonding could lead to better on ice chemistry or something like that.

“Yeah that sounds fun, I’m down.” Tango and Ford were probably expecting him to put up more of a fight but are not ones to look a gift horse in the mouth so they just high five and tell him that it’s going to be fun. He hangs out for a while laughing at Tango’s terrible Nicolas Cage impression and even gets wrangled into staying to watch some weird forgein film that Nursey picked out that he is only halfway pays attention to and is fully confused by.

By the time he is ready to leave to go get some homework done Jack and Mashkov have come and gone, the guys that live in the haus have all come home and are engaged in various activities around the house including but not limited to actually studying, fighting over the last peanut butter cookie, and yelling at a broken dryer.

When Ford hugs him goodbye and Tango gives him a fistbump he feels a little lighter than he did when he arrived.

 _Chad L. to Connor (hockey):_ come over? the boys are all outta the house.

The weight gets heavier but he likes Chad well enough. They aren’t in love or anything. Hell, they aren’t even dating. They are friends who study together and grab lunch after the mass comm class they share and sometimes hook up when there is no one for them to mess around with. For Connor that is always. For Chad, an out and proud captain, that’s sometimes.

But Connor Whisk is not a robot nor is he blind. Chad’s hot, he’s a good guy, he’s a consistent enough hook up to know what Connor likes and doesn’t like, he’s there, and he’s discrete. So instead of heading back to his dorm he makes his way to the LAX house and prays that no one is looking out of the kitchen window to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this basically delves into the fact that despite his general angst he does love his friends. also he will be meeting kent next chapter so thats nice and will hopefully be posted by wednesday.  
> uhh leave a comment if oyu actually are reading this bc i crave human interaction of any sort during quarantine.


	3. green light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so remember when i said i was going to update Wednesday? yeah that didn't happen because life happened instead. oops.  
> um this chapter is fairly long and not edited I'm sorry

As he sits in his dorm pretending to read 3 chapters for his Architecture of Educational Frameworks class, he wonders if he should care more about school. He cares enough for his teachers to like him, is very good at tests, and gets the occasional extended deadline or special provision since he is a student-athlete and they are often spending Thursdays and Fridays traveling or preparing for games. It works well enough for him to maintain his scholarship and if he’s not careful he will surpass the 3.5 GPA needed to become an honors student but it’s probably because he takes stupid fucking communications classes like Architecture of Educational Frameworks. 

He takes a look at the time he realizes he’s due to meet the team soon so chalks studying up to a loss tonight and tries to muster up the energy to get out of the SMH joggers he threw on this morning before class. He sifts through the pile of laundry on the floor of his closet that he always forgets to fold and finds the black Falcs shirt that was in this year's welcome back bags courtesy of Captain Eric Bittle. He knows he’s expected to wear some sort of Falconers merch considering the tickets were a gift from two of the players. That doesn’t stop him from throwing on a hoodie over it to fight off the chill of the Massachusetts fall weather that is creeping in that he isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to. For someone who runs cold, he sure chose an awful sport to dedicate his life to and a terrible place to live. 

The walk from his dorm to the haus is only about a 15-minute walk but Tango threatened to not take him to the game if he skipped the pregame because according to Wicks the best way to go to games is to turn up for a fourth of the price and getting drinks at the arena to “maintain the buzz.”    
  
Regardless of whether or not that is in fact the smartest way to go about things he hustles over because he really doesn’t want to take an Uber and if he doesn’t go at all Ford will have his head. 

The air in the house smells like an odd mix of baked goods and booze and it is clear why they are being so rowdy. By the time he arrives, it seems like the guys have pregamed their pregame. They don’t play this weekend and most of them were smart enough to avoid Friday classes but it  _ is  _ 4 pm on a Thursday and that should be taken into consideration. His face must convey that because Ollie disentangles himself from Wicks, yells “Whiskey’s here for Thirsty Thursday!” and throws an arm over Connor to drag him where everyone is congregated around the kitchen island playing a round of rage cage. He’s not certain about the rules but thinks it's fine enough because it’s more interesting to watch than beer pong which is like, objectively boring if you aren’t playing and Connor hasn’t played since his rookie season of juniors. All he really knows about this game is there’s a lot of yelling, cheering, cup stacking, and most importantly drinking. 

“You want in on the next round?” Ollie asks as he starts mixing himself and Wicks a new set of drinks.

Connor declines stating that he’ll probably just have a beer at the game which he genuinely means because he’s making an effort to be more of One of the Boys this season or whatever. This does not however mean he needs to get obliterated at 4 pm on a  _ Thursday.  _ In response, Ollie tosses him a Gatorade from the fridge and tells him that he’ll hold him to it. 

Connor actually really likes Ollie and Wicks. Wicks is a journalism major which means that he took a lot of the communications classes that Connor is currently dealing with and is organized enough to keep his old notes and flashcards, god bless him, which he quickly handed over to Whiskey when he found out his major last season. They are both amenable and easy enough to talk to when they grab team breakfasts while they are on the road and when Ford or Tango drag him out to various team functions like this. He is pretty sure they are dating but everyone is so enamored with The Eric Bittle to pay attention to the other two seniors. 

On the other hand, though everyone on this team is very into shows of affection so they could very well just be the Best of Bros. He is not best friends with them by any means but they are good people and a decent enough mentor system when he needs an upperclassman because he simply cannot, will not, subject himself to an Eric Bittle where he actually  _ asked  _ for his help. They aren’t best friends by any means but he will miss them next year. 

It was then that Tango emerges from the living room and wraps his arm around Whiskey’s shoulder and drags his head down to give him noogie because despite the fact that they are 21 Tango fully believes in the bonding power of noogies. Connor manages to wrangle his way from beneath his friend’s arm and takes a seat next to Ford with his Gatorade to watch the flurry of activity happening in the kitchen and interjecting occasionally into their conversation and laughing along until it is time to pile into the cars that will take them down to Providence. 

_____________________________________________________________

His time in NHL areas is limited to seeing the Coyotes with his family when they had spent weekends in Glendale for his dad’s job or youth tournaments and seeing the Wild with guys from his team during juniors when their schedules allowed it. The arena in Providence was something else entirely. It was new and sleek, all glass windows and rounded corners and basically the wet dream of most Architectural Digest readers. Everything was electronic for no reason at all from the doors to the mirrors in the bathrooms and the led screens placed around that allows fans to take pictures and video that make it look like their favorite Falconers are joining them and not two floors below getting ready to hit the ice. 

After getting through the lines for snacks and beers the team beelines for the screens to pick their line up to pose with as if Eric Bittle wouldn’t withhold baked goods from a damn National Hockey League team if they refused to pose for a few photos with his team. Regardless, Connor watches some of his teammates squeeze too close together with silly looks on their faces to make room for the virtual players to come in before the photo gets taken. 

Tourist quota now fulfilled Eric herds them, hastily homemade signs with terrible puns and all, down to the glass to watch warm-ups and do all the things you are suppose to do when you are are a bunch of college kids at a hockey game. They appropriately hoot and holler when the Falcs take the ice and dance to the catchy warm-up mix. The team coos when Eric and Jack have a cute moment through the glass and when Ford catches a puck that Mashkov sent her way, looks like she’s going to pass out from excitement, and then passes it to a girl who looks about 7 who is sitting to the left of their group. 

After warm-ups, Connor helps usher the drunkest of the group to the suite they had been gifted for the evening and orders himself a beer to nurse during the game that Ollie, absolute beauty that he is, pays for. 

When the Aces take the ice Connor takes a look at who they have in their starting line up. He wasn’t a Vegas fan by any means but he follows the team peripherally since they are close to Arizona and he has some weird need to support desert teams that like, #GrowTheGame or whatever since that is the reason he is able to play the game he so desperately dedicates his life to. 

As he claps politely for the Falconers starters and gets jostled around by his cheering teammates he thinks more about how no one ever mentions when you sign your kid up for mites at 6 years old that this game has the potential to take over your entire life. Weekends, family finances, school decisions, your diet, whether or not you live with your family when you are 16 years old, whether or not you will ever have an actual relationship, all rest and balance on 3 inches of frozen rubber and a stubbornness so strong you refuse to fail. 

They also conveniently forget to mention the stress that comes with playing a game for 15 years, 18 by the time he’s done with school, all building up, hopefully, to this insanity in front of him. Thousands of people all packed in with more watching from bars and couches all over the world. Watching you from every angle, sometimes in slow motion, judging every move you make on and off the ice either cheering for you or absolutely hating your guts. He’d hate it so much but he wants it more than anything. Kind of fucked up isn’t it?

_____________________________________________________________

The game is good in the way that all professional hockey games are good. Faster than lighting and moves to beautiful you wonder how many hours on the ice it will take before you’re able to move the puck like you are controlling it with your mind rather than your stick. Obviously there are moments when you groan in frustration as someone passes to someone who is clearly covered or a puck bounces in just a way that you think, “I’d never let that happen,” before you realize that you undoubtedly have in fact, let that happen. 

Ford starts on what she does best and starts as Eric has once referred to it, “herding cats,” which basically means she just sternly suggests that they start finishing their drinks, gathering their coats, and cleaning up their mess because they will not be known as the assholes who refused to clean up after themselves and clear out so the arena staff can begin cleaning and get home on time. Connor overhears Eric asking Tango if he can catch a ride back in their car so the others can start getting everyone home while he goes to say goodbye to Jack real quick and Tango who is the nicest person ever says of course. 

Maybe Connor can pretend to go to sleep in the car or play on his phone because an hour stuck next to a drunk in love Eric Bittle sounds like a nightmare. He looks down at his phone and sees that his battery is going to die soon. 

...Great. 

_____________________________________________________________

After 45 minutes he could tell that the arena staff was itching to kick them out of the arena so they can fully close up shop. 

“Whiskey can you go try and find Bitty? Tango and I should try and get Schultzy out of here,” Ford said gesturing to the freshman who has clearly snuck more alcohol than they would have allowed him. 

“I don’t even know where he is,” Connor rebutted to try and avoid trying to navigate and track down Eric. 

She slides a pass on a lanyard out of her purse and shoves it in his hands before going to speak to a nearby security guard who looks to be guarding an elevator. Ford points over to Connor and laughs loudly at some joke that the guard, who is now smiling, makes before coming back to Connor and dragging him over, leaving Tango to try and hold Schultzy up. 

“Whiskey this is our new friend Andrew he’ll help you track down Bitty, show him your pass.” He does and Andrew pushes the button to the elevator his large body is blocking while he tells Connor to go to the GL floor and hook a right as soon as he exits. From there it is the second left, all the way down the hallway, past a big blue door, and left again and it's the 3rd door on the right. Oh god. Directions have never been his strong suit but he gets into the elevator to go find the SOAP Suite. It used to be called the WAG Room but since Eric joined the fray, team personnel have been making an effort to be more inclusive hence referring to it to Significant Others And Partners Suite rather than Wives and Girlfriends. Because of course people would move heaven and hell for Eric Bittle. 

The elevator dings and he exits. Okay right, second left, or was it the second right? First left? Oh, just think Connor. Right for sure and then -

He can’t even finish his thought because while he was starting down a hallway a figure came wheeling around the corner before smacking right into him and spilling their cup all over his legs and shoes. He yelped when they made contact.

Man he waited ages for these shoes, finally got them and now there’s… blue gatorade all over them he thinks. He looks up the culprit who starts profusely apologizing.

“Holy shit,” Connor thinks. Wait? Did he say that out loud? He thinks so because the Gatorade spiller starts apologizing even faster and offers to buy him new shoes. 

Connor tries to make him feel a little bit better by saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say that outloud. I was just startled. It's really not a big deal.” 

“No it’s so my fault I was on my phone and I need to watch where I’m going. I wasn’t kidding though I will buy you new shoes. I know those were not cheap.” Connor looks down to his shoes to see his Yeezys probably ruined by the drink that had saved his life so many times. This is probably some karma or something for not wanting to go find Bittle. 

“Sorry, I’m Kent by the way.” The guy says as if he is not one of the most recognizable faces in the game right behind Crosby.

“I know.” Connor inwardly cringes. He knows? He  _ knows?  _ Stalker much? He takes his first actual look at the man in front of him. He takes in the still damp blonde hair that is falling a little in front of his eyes that Connor cannot decide the color of. His size has always been a topic of conversation amongst hockey analysts but he isn’t as short as they make him out to be as Connor is probably only 2 or 3 inches taller than him. He’s wearing a suit that is so well tailored that he wants to thank the person who customized it for allowing him to experience this moment.

“I’m Connor.” He says somewhere in the middle of his assessment. 

With a smirk Kent playfully says, “I know,” which causes Connor’s eyes to snap to his. “I watch a lot of NCAA hockey because I see enough of these fuckers watching tape.” He gestures vaguely around him when he says this. “Your name comes up a lot, as someone to watch for. You’re pretty good yknow?”

Connor had no clue how to respond. He isn’t sure if this is what heaven feels like. A damp, gorgeous man, validating everything you’ve worked towards certainly feels like it could be heaven. Instead of screaming aloud like he was doing internally he let out a little laugh and simply says, “I know.” 

Kent smiles, like actually smiles like they are sharing some sort of inside joke, not that stupid smirk he always wears when someone’s taking his photo or he is being interviewed and  _ god  _ is it something Connor will be thinking about for quite sometime. “What are you doing down here anyways? Should I be calling security?” 

“Well I am  _ trying  _ to go home but my… friend Eric is visiting someone.”

“Conjugal?” That smirk is back. It’s objectively hot but Connor thinks he prefers the blonde’s actual smile. 

“God I hope not. I would really like to go home soon.”

“Aw not enjoying my company?” Connor knows he’s joking but does not want to confront how much he is enjoying his company much less admit it. “I’ll walk with you come on.”

Kent started leading the way like he owns the joint instead of like a visiting player slinking through the underground of a rival's arena. “Wait I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing down this way?” Connor asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t stay too up to date with the drama aspect of the NHL but you’d have to live under a rock to not know about the bad blood between the Falcs and Kent. 

Kent explains that despite their on ice problems he and Alexei Mashkov have become pretty good friends over the years first meeting at an All Star Game where they almost got into a bar fight and then ended up drinking and shooting the shit for hours instead. “Loser buys dinner so I guess that’s me tonight but he’ll be buying when it counts.” 

They arrive at a door that Kent informs him that Eric would be behind. “I’ve gotta go catch Lexi and Bitty isn’t my biggest fan so I’ll leave you here.” Connor heard rumors from Ollie about Kent crashing a party a couple years ago but from what he heard Kent was personable and even took pictures with Bittle. He wonders what has changed since then.

Even after thanking him showing the way Kent didn’t leave. He took a moment and seemed like he was contemplating something before he pulled out his phone from his pocket, unlocking it, and passing it to Connor. 

“Why don’t you give me your number? You seem chill and it could be nice for you to have someone in the show in your corners that’s not like… dating your captain.”

Connor blinks. 

Connor stares.

Connor realizes he has been looking at the phone outstretched to him for too long. 

He snatches it out of Kent’s hand a little too quickly after realizing it had been a very long 15 seconds since it was offered to him. After inputting his name and number he hands the phone back to its owner. Kent clicks on something and says, “Smile!” and snaps a picture of Connor’s confused face and makes it his contact photo. 

Kent’s phone dings and he cursed, “It’s Lexi I really have to go I’m sorry.” Kent starts walking backwards keeping his eyes on Connor.

“Oh no worries I’m so sorry for keeping you! Thank you...again... for showing the way.”

“Don’t apologize… I’m glad we met.” He is about to have to turn a corner, his voice is raised now, not yelling, but loud enough so Connor would be able to hear him from the end of the long hallway. “You’re pretty fucking cool Connor.”

“I know.” He hollers down the hall, smiling. With one last laugh Kent turned the corner and Connor had to take a few deep breaths and looked at the space where Kent had disappeared. 

_____________________________________________________________

The drive back wasn’t as he thought. While Eric gushed about how fun it was to all go together as a team and how nice it was to see Jack, Connor just looked at a text on his phone until it had died.

_ Unknown Number to Connor Whisk:  _ KP :-) 

  
  



End file.
